Enough
by lokiyan
Summary: She was everything when he had nothing. Blair/Draco


A/N: Response to a prompt by glitterite : "Blair/Draco (HP). If this means anything at all, I won't let you leave me anymore."

Enough

Draco Malfoy had nothing left. His family name was tarnished, his cowardice and prejudices broadcasted and so he did what cowards do. He fled.

England, Paris, New York, muggles, wizards - it's all the same. The riches stay rich and the poor are in rags. It's easy to be bored when he had the cash and the spells to get what he wanted so easily he hardly had to lift a finger. Party after party, he began to wonder. What was so great about life and society that Voldemort and countless deatheaters were willing to sacrifice their lives and souls for?

What was once a feared organization now seemed rather foolish, didn't it?

He casted spells on women without lifting a wand. There was something about him, apparently. Or at least that was the rumor going around and we all know how word spreads more quickly than wealth. They came so easily that it was even easier to leave them at the end (although to say that would imply that they ever really began - a bit of a stretch, no?).

Then _she _came along.

All broken and beautiful. Shattered but tough as the nails that she dug into his back when she finally gave in after weeks and weeks of courtship. He told her what he was (he refused to admit why exactly) and she gave a simple shrug. Like she had nothing to lose. Like the life she had now was not worth preserving.

The reflection of disappointment and broken dreams in her eyes and the slight constant pout was haunting and mesmerizing all at once and it took his breath away.

He's sure that there once burned a light in the lanterns of her eyes so radiant that it could brighten all of Hogwarts with its passion and he aspired to light it again, night after night. With every gift and charm he sent her way, he strove to win the unattainable.

She always took a shower and left right after it all. He supposed because he gave himself so easily that it was even easier to leave him. Ain't karma a bitch?

The first sign he saw of some sort of breakthrough was when he paraded the girl on his arm in Diagon Alley on the way back to his Manor. The robes made of the finest silk hardly sparked any interest and the enchanted pins went unexamined as he brought her from one luxury store to the next. It was only when he kissed her in front of Gringotts, confronted by Potter, of all people, that he received any indication of longing.

"Walking around with a muggle won't help your image. Everyone knows what you are, Malfoy."

He merely sneered at the orphan and walked on by with his nose in the air and a hand on the fingers that dug through his robe at the crook of his arm.

She pushed him against the wall in the foyer, his head slammed back against the wall as she smashed her lips against his, teeth biting at anything they could reach. "So you're using me, Malfoy?"

There it was - that spark that he knew was there, and he gripped it tight. With a hand on her hip, he pushed her back onto the side table, the vase of flowers crashing on the ground. She was much more beautiful anyway.

"And you're not doing the same thing?"

They broke a few mirrors and ignored the protests of his ancestors on the wall before they made it to the bed and their fall took the breath out of his lungs. "We're users, its what we do," he managed as his teeth found her ear and his hand found her thigh. "This isn't news, Blair." His hand dragged the scarlet material of her gown with him until it bunched at her delicate waist and he ran an index finger down the cotton covered slit. "You use me all the time."

He sounded forlorn and miserable even to his own ears and he must wonder what she thought of him. "N-no," she stuttered out "I don't do that anymore."

He froze, his eyes concentrated on her lips as the pants escaped her in hurried puffs. "Prove it." He took his hand and his weight away, but left his heart there for her to take or leave behind. It was near impossible with the way he watched her white throat swallow and her eyes shut, but he stuck in nails into the ornate wooden carvings on the side of his bed and stayed seated.

He wasn't some cheap desperate whore whom she can leave. Not again.

He felt her rise behind him and his shoulders tensed. It was her move and she always left him wanting, but if he meant anything at all...

She place her two tiny hands (ones she would never let him hold) on his back and pressed her cheek right in the hollow of his spine.

For now, that was enough.


End file.
